


a softer sort of speech

by Jenstar



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Flowers, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, flower shop owner Lio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: Lio teaches Galo the language of flowers.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 21
Kudos: 166





	a softer sort of speech

Galo is utterly overwhelmed as he scans the motley displays of flowers that line the parameters of the flower shop. He tries pacing up and down the rows quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of _something_ that seems appropriate for a birthday. Aina has always had a soft spot for flowers.

The shop is fairly small, but Galo can feel it harbor a cozy vibrancy disguised by a swirling floral aroma. The vines hanging above him sway as a light breeze filters in through the windows, and the green tendrils graze his cheek like a gentle hand encouraging him to relax. It grounds him for a moment, but soon he feels sweat begin to dot his brows as he gazes over reds and greens and yellows and oranges until a faint dizziness creeps at the edges of his skull. 

He eyes a bundle of yellow roses and begins to reach for them. He hesitates halfway, though, suddenly intimidated by the delicate fragility of the canary petals folding in on themselves, as if they're bracing themselves from the brashness of his touch.

Besides, don’t roses mean love? A thought that almost makes Galo laugh. He stares at the flowers until the colors blur his vision, like paint clouding clear water in brightly colored plumes.

“Hi there. Do you need some help?”

A shiver leaves a trail of goosebumps on his skin, and Galo finds himself grounded once more, this time by something elegant with the slightest touch of bass. He turns towards the source to find a man around his age, face framed by feathery blonde hair as delicate as rose petals, with eyes as vibrant as the lavender to his left. He’s smaller than Galo, but carries a staggering aura that weighs heavy in the air and mingles with the aroma of flowers. Galo can’t help but stare.

“Um, is everything alright?” He asks as he takes the time to adjust his apron. Galo notices a silver name tag spelling out _Lio_ in loopy letters. He wonders if he wrote it in himself.

“Yeah, sorry! I zoned out for a bit there. I could use some help, actually.” Lio gives him a small smile, and Galo has to rub the back of his neck to ease out the nerves tingling on the surface of his palm.

“Of course. Who are the flowers for and what’s the occasion? I see you’ve been eyeing the roses. They must be someone special.”

“It’s not like that!” Galo responds quickly. “Well, yes she’s special, but I’m not like _in love_ with her or anything. It’s her birthday, and she loves flowers, but I don’t even know where to start.” Exasperation hangs on to the last syllable. Galo’s not entirely sure why he felt the need to explain himself in the first place, however; he feels relieved at the warmth coalescing in Lio’s gaze, all pink and purple like vivid chrysanthemums tangling their antennae.

“Well, it looks like you have little bit of intuition when it comes to the language of flowers.” Lio picks out a yellow rose and presses it to his nose. His eyes flutter shut, and Galo catches himself blushing at the way those long lashes fan over pale cheeks. Lio is a feathery image of serenity, and Galo commits it to memory.

“You see,” he continues, opening his eyes to outstretch the rose towards Galo. He leans forward and finds he quite likes the faint sweetness that lingers on the yellow edges. “While red roses usually convey passionate love, yellow roses commonly convey friendship, specifically platonic friendship. So if your friend is as fond of flowers as you say, I’m sure she’d love these without getting the wrong idea.”

Lio gives him another smile, and as Galo feels his cheeks bloom with color, he swears he sees the small tug of Lio’s lips threatening to smirk. It stirs something in Galo, gingerly reminding him of old adages mentioning to never underestimate the power of small things.

“That’s a relief. I didn’t know flowers could have so many meanings.” Galo’s vision begins to blur again as he looks around the shop. “I’m so doomed.”

“Don’t say that,” Lio says, and he puts the yellow rose back before gesturing Galo to follow him. “Let’s walk around the shop together. You can point to flowers you’re interested in, and I’ll tell you what they mean. I think if we pick out two more flowers, I can make a nice bouquet for your friend.”

“Ah, good plan! Thanks a bunch, Lio.”

Lio’s cheeks flush as pink as sweet peas before it gently fades. “Any time. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, it’s Galo.” He gives Lio a dazzling grin and earns a breathy giggle that doesn't match the coy glimmer in that field of chrysanthemums. 

“Nice to meet you, Galo. Let’s get started.”

Galo tails Lio closely as they slowly walk up and down the crowded space. He notices a peculiar looking flower, the pink and white petals are bundled at the base and begin to thin out as they reach the tip. Galo thinks they kind of look like spears and figures Aina may like them.

“Hey Lio, what are these?”

Lio picks one out and runs a lithe finger over one of the petals. It lingers on where the pink bleeds into the white. “These are snapdragons. They’re some of my favorite flowers. Although, I don’t think you want to add these to the bouquet.”

“Really? What do they mean?”

“They typically represent deception and deviousness." That glimmer refracts a bit more light, and Galo feels his chest stutter.

“Oh damn, well definitely not those then.” They don’t get much farther before Galo spots several white flowers with an unassuming petal arrangement. They’re quite lovely in their simplicity, and Galo can’t fathom them having a malicious meaning.

“What about these?” He asks as he gently picks one up. 

Lio raises an eyebrow and lets out a quiet sigh. “Those are anemones, and they represent forsaken or forgotten love.”

Galo winces before he puts the flower back. Lio is unable to restrain a laugh, and his mirth flutters its way into his chest and gently cascades down to the bottom, like viridescent vines winding through every veined path.

“I think I may have spoken too soon about your flower language intuition.”

“I’m trying over here!” Galo suddenly feels embarrassed, an emotion so incredibly foreign to him he almost flails his arms in exasperation. But Lio begins to laugh again, and Galo laughs alongside him, a gentle equilibrium settling between them as if they were always meant to ping-pong light exchanges in an atmosphere as tender as a flower shop.

Their laughter finally dies down, and Galo thinks he must be hallucinating when Lio trails the tail end of his laugh with a whispered _cute._

“Here, I’ll tell you what. If you trust me, I can arrange a bouquet for you that won’t accidentally broadcast nonexistent proclamations of love or misfortune or both.” Lio looks at him with an open expression, his eyes so violet and warm and inviting with tiniest hint of impish playfulness that Galo so desperately wants to explore.

“Yeah, I trust you!” Before Lio turns towards the other side of the shop, a question suddenly springs from the tip of Galo’s tongue and dives into the air.

“What does lavender mean?”

Lio turns to face him with a questioning look, but indulges him anyway. “They mean quite a few things. Devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness to name a few. The purple color also represents royalty and elegance. Did you want to add them to the bouquet?”

“No, I was just...wondering.” Galo mediates on whether or not he should tell Lio that every one of those meanings should only be reserved for him, but he doesn’t get the chance, and Lio saunters away.

Galo watches Lio start his search by grabbing a few yellow roses, treating each one with a subtle kindness that hovers over the pads of his fingertips. He watches that lavender gaze glaze over the options, his brows furrowing here and there until they fly upwards as something finally dawns on him.

He walks over to a bundle of white and pink flowers, the rosy hues splotching over the white petals like watercolor spreading on canvas, speckled with flakes of cardinal red. Lio moves on to a section of tiny blue flowers and picks out a few, giggling a bit as he gently pokes the small petals. Galo feels himself flush as pink as peonies, feels a wildfire flicker and carve a path all the way up to the tips of his ears. He's good at putting out fires, but maybe he'll let this one simmer for a bit.

Lio catches him staring, and for a moment he narrows his eyes in tandem with the curve of his smile. But his expression softens shortly after, and he cradles his pickings before gliding towards the back of the shop.

“I think I’ve picked out some good choices. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” Lio disappears behind the counter, and Galo realizes he’s been holding a breath and lets out a long sigh. He scans the flower shop as he waits, every shade of red and green and yellow and orange no longer blurs his vision and invades his senses. He feels comfortable in the space as gentle aromas dance along the bridge of his nose, and a vine grazes his cheek again, filling his head with thoughts of gentle lithe fingers, blonde feathers, and bundles of lavender. 

Lio emerges from the back with a bouquet, beautiful in its modesty; yellow roses accompanied by the pink and white flowers welded altogether by the small blue pickings and touches of lush, green leaves. They live in a sparkling glass vase, accessorized with a white satin bow. Galo is stunned by its perfection, a flurry of colors taking up a small space—Aina would love it.

“Lio it’s...perfect. You’re a real genius, huh?”

“Hmm, I’m glad you like it. I figured you’d want something on the small size, call it intuition. Would you like to know what the rest of the flowers mean?”

“Yes, please!” Lio laughs at his enthusiasm, and Galo wonders if he really cares so much about the language of flowers or if he's suddenly addicted to the sound of Lio’s voice.

“The pink and white ones are called alstroemerias, they symbolize devotion and mutual support between two people, most notably friends. And these small ones are blue dandelions. You want to give these to someone to promote happiness and tranquility. I decided to add some ferns to bring it all together, they suggest eternal youth.”

“Aina is gonna love them. Seriously Lio, I owe you.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me soon.” Galo can’t tell if he imagines Lio shooting him a wink or if his bangs got in the way, but he’s quiet and nervous as he pays for the bouquet and carefully lifts it up.

“Oh, wait Galo. You forgot one more flower.”

Galo turns to him, confused. “I did?”

“Yes, you did.” Lio walks up to him with hands behind his back, leaving only a few inches of space between them. Galo wills himself not to buckle at the knees.

Lio brings a large flower around and gently places it in Galo’s free hand. Its petals are akin to tendrils, curling upwards and then inwards in soft pink, yellow, and white hues. It reminds Galo of an octopus, but he keeps that to himself. He notices a small card tied around the stem. 

“What kind of flower is this?”

“I wrote it on the card along with its meaning. I have to go back to work, but it was certainly nice to meet you.”

“Likewise! You were a big help.”

“Take care, Galo.”

Galo walks a couple blocks before stopping to look at the odd flower. The colors melt together in the daylight, and Galo thinks the architecture of the surrounding buildings don't hold a candle to the sprawling shades. He smiles as he reaches for the card.

_Honeysuckle — sweet and devoted affection._

There’s a number scribbled below the meaning, and Galo is charmed at how such delicate language can make him burn brighter than the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Find me on twitter: @jenstarlol


End file.
